As I See It
by it's time to ramble on
Summary: Child; noun. A small, well-loved little thing with a bad habit of affixing two otherwise unassociated and/or disparate persons together indefinitely. At least, that was Lois Lane’s current definition of the word.
1. Easy As Pie

**Child; **_**noun**_**.**

_**A small, well-loved little thing with a bad habit of affixing two otherwise unassociated and/or disparate persons together indefinitely. **_

**At least, that was Lois Lane's current definition of the word.**

My mother always used to say, "Lois, people lie all the time. In fact, people lie so much they sometimes even forget the truth themselves. People and lies go together like nachos and guacamole."

Thank you, Ella Lane. Eloquent as always.

But really, it was good advice. I may not have fully understood the intricately knotted concepts of deceit and human nature at the tender age of eight, but hey, I sure do now. And looking back on my life so far, it's true that I sometimes feel like I've lost touch.

For instance, I've been fooling everyone else about Jason's paternity for so long, I almost believe Richard is his father sometimes. But, I know he's not, and it's time to (finally) tell the truth, 'cause otherwise, someday soon, Jason will hear something he shouldn't, or lift something Richard couldn't, and this whole little family is gonna have to get counseling. _No lies= eggs without bacon_. It tastes strange after eating them together your whole life, but ultimately it's better for you (I've heard that the unnecessary fatty foods you eat now go straight to your thighs once you hit 40, and then it's nearly impossible to shift the weight).

So, because I don't want to have cellulite all over my legs for everyone to see, I've decided to come clean. As in, make Richard some scrambled eggs for breakfast, and serve Jason's paternity as a little, unexpected side dish.

Obviously, being a (near legendary) journalist has its advantages, as demonstrated in my neat little metaphor above (_bacon= lying_, _fatty thighs= unavoidable, permanent consequences_, for those of you who didn't get that). My career has also bestowed upon me valuable experience in the employment of:

**tact**** |takt|**

**noun**

**adroitness and sensitivity in dealing with others or with difficult issues:**_** the inspector broke the news to me with tact and consideration.**_

I mean, it's a given that it's going to require a little more than adroitness and sensitivity to tell my (possibly _soon-to-be-former_) fiancée that the apple of his eye did not in fact spring from his loins one careless night, but that I had already been crammed with _**Super Sperm**___ for some time. I could finish it off nicely with "_I'm sorry for your loss" _or (even better)_ "I'm sorry for your wasted efforts, but someone got there first." _But…I think not.

I'm Lois Lane, and I don't do things by halves. I'll say it, and say it straight.

'It'. Yeah. It's easier to refer to this forthcoming conversation as 'It'.

'It'= "Richard, Jason may one day be able to fly, and no, not in a Sea Plane."

'It'= "Richard, Jason is in fact the child of my former lover who recently returned from intergalactic space travel. We made passionate love one night in a futuristic crystal fortress in the middle of the Arctic tundra. It was fun."

Easy. As. Pie. (By the way, whoever said that- they were wrong. I tried making a pie once, and it came out looking like grilled fish.)

A car just pulled up in my driveway.

Crap.

Richard's home.

Time to put my Big Girl Face on, and improvise.


	2. Savoir Faire

**Child; **_**noun**_**.**

_**A small, well-loved little thing with a bad habit of affixing two otherwise unassociated and/or disparate persons together indefinitely.**_

**At least, that was Lois Lane's current definition of the word.**

So. That went… not _well_, but… not _too bad_, either.

However I put it, though, those words still hurt Richard like hell, but I _think_ I managed to _break the news _ (perfect euphemism there, 'cause we're both reporters) with a reasonable amount of

**savoir faire**** |ˌsavwär ˈfe(****ə****)r|**

**noun**

**the ability to act or speak appropriately in (awkward!) social situations.**

But, obviously, he wasn't too happy with me. I mean, I lied to him for years. Who _would _be happy with me after something as monumental as that? He took the news relatively well (read: didn't have a breakdown), though, considering all.

But now he thinks we should "_take a break_".

I'm not even sure what that means.

Does it mean we're together, just **Taking a Break**? Or, does it mean we're at the** Beginning Of the End**, so to speak?

Funnily enough (though it's really _not humorous_ in _any way_), I have a feeling it's the latter.

In fact, I'm **sure** it's the latter.

"_You won't marry me, and Jason isn't my son. In what way are we a family?"_

… Those were his exact words.

The ones he spoke as he walked out the door.

But wait… (insert drum roll here?)

There's _more._

Richard _also_ told me that I "need to get Superman out of my system," if I want him in my life.

_Ouch!_

Of course, I told him I was over Superman.

Of course, he didn't believe me.

And now, looking back, I don't know if I believe it either.

I hear you say (with a gasp); _Surely _you _know how you feel about your Arctic Lover? Surely _you _know that you're over him. Surely that's enough._

Well, dear readers (I _really _hope no one is _actually reading_ this- 'cause, you know, these _are_ my most private, intimate thoughts, after all) I confess I really think that perhaps I might not be as fully, absolutely over the S-Man as I thought I was.

*Note: See how I referred to him as an _Arctic Lover? _What I _really _meant was _Arctic __**Former **__Lover._

I really hope that's what I really meant.

'Cause if not, I'm in trouble.

But, then again, I've already done the worst thing a woman can do- I told a man his son wasn't his son.

So, really, what does is matter if I'm still in love with the **Kryptonian** **Hunk**?

Uh-oh.

I'm pretty sure that little turn of phrase (in _love_?) translates as

**danger**** |ˈd****ā****nj****ə****r|**

**noun**

• **a person or thing that is likely to cause harm or injury **_**: possibly secretly loving your ex-EX-lover (that ditched you and your unborn kid to go on an intergalactic space voyage) more than you love your current fiancée.**_

Damn.

Don't you just love Freudian Slips? I sure do. _In love. _How silly is that?

I don't love him.

Really.

_Really, _really **don't.**

Love him.

Superman…

_Mrs_. Superman?

Mrs_. Lane_-Superman? Mrs. Lane-Man. Mrs. Lane-_Ke- _

Scrap that.

But maybe…?

**Superman Finally Weds! By Lois Lane-El.**

Um…

Maybe not.

Okay, so perhaps Richard was right. perhaps I do need to figure a few things out.

Perhaps I'm still in love with Superman.


	3. Gah! A Talking Muffin!

suave |swäv|

adjective (** suaver **, **suavest **)

(esp. of a man) charming, confident, elegant, sagacious, Super.

Suaveman.

I had always known him to be charming, always suspected him to be eloquent, but never before have I seen such magnificent smoothness as he possesses (except perhaps in the beautiful smooth surface of my flawless logic- but you'll hear about that later).

I was having another one of my rants (I'm struggling). I was losing it (It being my sanity). I was yelling at him, yet again, and blaming him for my troubles, yet again.

He was taking the full onslaught like a Man: with occasional nods and a distant expression on his face. Then, suddenly, he did something I had not expected, partly because I had not really thought he was paying attention. He pressed a finger to my lips, looked into my eyes and said very simply, 'Be quiet, before you say something you'll regret.'

It reminded me of that scene from 'You've Got Mail'. You know, the one where Tom Hanks shuts up Meg Ryan?

I was about to speak and ask him if he'd seen it (he doesn't seem the type to watch chick-flicks, but hey, he's a guy who flies in tights- anything's possible), when he uttered some of the most profound words I have ever heard.

'Lois Lane,' he declared, 'I am a man, and you are a woman. We can't expect to agree on everything.'

With that one single sentence he sewed up all my attacks into a neat little package of sheepishness and handed it right on back to me.

After that, I had no more words to say (perhaps that was his plan?), and he excused himself.

That got me to thinking. Why was I so upset with him? He hadn't known about any such thing as a baby when he decided to go on extended vacation. Was it really fair to pin all the blame on him just because I was having trouble dealing with things?

Bah-humbug. Of course it's fair.

Because, like he said: he is a man, and I am a woman. He thinks I should let him off the metaphorical hook, but according to his own reasoning, it is my prerogative to disagree with him. Snap.

Bet he didn't see that coming.


End file.
